Gotta be Sure
by Amara Anon
Summary: Alternate Reality. What if Mr. Wrench had noticed when Lester tasered Mr. Numbers? Things would have turned out very differently, indeed. Oneshot.


Disclaimer: I don't own _Fargo_.

**Gotta be Sure**

Wrench didn't hear anything going amiss, of course. He didn't hear Lester tase Numbers, Numbers scream out in pain, his body hit the ice, or Lester starting to get away.

But something, some innate intuition, told Wrench to momentarily stop the ice digger he was using to work a hole into the frozen lake and glance back at Numbers.

He saw Numbers lying motionless on the ice, and his eyes caught Lester's, wide like a deer in headlights. Wrench threw the ice digger aside and ran toward Lester.

An instant later Lester started off in the opposite direction. Wrench slipped on the ice—and Lester might have gotten away, except for the fact that the force of his impact slid him toward Lester like a hockey puck. He grabbed Lester by the ankles and slipped his body out from under him. His chin hit the ice, and Wrench had the chance to grab Lester by either side of his skull and smash his forehead repeatedly into the ice until he was out cold.

By this time, Numbers was coming to. He saw Wrench and Lester, gave a yell of surprise, and struggled to get to his feet and make his way across the ice, still lightheaded.

Wrench was already dragging Lester by the ankles towards the ice hole, and passed Numbers who was signing furiously at him.

Wrench waved him off with one hand and continued lugging Lester's body toward the hole. He let Lester drop onto the ice next to the hole, and waited for Numbers to join him. They both stared at each other, catching their breath, which was coming out in little puffs of vapor.

Wrench gave Numbers a look, then started lifting Lester's unconscious body up to drop it into the freezing water. Numbers put a firm hand on his shoulder. _Wait_, Numbers signed emphatically, _Lester said that another guy killed Hess._

Wrench gave him a blank look, then started lifting up Lester again.

Numbers screeched in exasperation, waving his arms wildly. _YOU said that we've gotta get a confession out of this schmuck! YOU said we gotta be sure!_

Numbers was panting, little puffs of vapor issuing from his mouth like steam from a boiling kettle.

Wrench dropped Lester again, careless of how his body hit the ice. Numbers heard a crunch like a broken nose. Wrench gave Numbers a deathly intense stare, towering over him. He pointed at Lester furiously.

_HE hurt YOU_, Wrench signed emphatically.

Numbers gazed back at him, perplexed.

"_FUUUCK HIM_," Wrench actually signed and spoke at the same time. Then, looking more exasperated than Numbers had ever seen him, he signed, _LET'S JUST GO THE FUCK HOME._

Numbers looked at Wrench for a solid moment, as frozen as Lester. Then Numbers let out a short, harsh laugh.

_Now you're talking._

* * *

The pair sped off in the lone car on the long, empty highway out of Bemidji, Minnesota as Lester's body sunk to the bottom of the lake.

Wrench was driving. Feeling restless, Numbers flipped on the switch to the radio. Wrench caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, and frowned. They had an agreement: No music. Sometimes Numbers would be driving while Wrench caught some sleep, and he'd wake up and realize that Numbers had had the radio on the whole time. He hated sneaky shit like that. Now, with an exasperated expression, he went to turn off the radio, but Numbers slapped his hand away.

_Wait a minute_, Numbers signed. _This is a good one. You'll like it. See?_

Numbers mimed a prolonged drum solo, imaginary drum sticks in hand, slapping them against his thighs, the dashboard, even a cymbal bash upon Wrench's head.

Wrench shoved his hand in Numbers' face, but Numbers smiled and kept going, clearly enjoying himself. Finally, Wrench just had to shake his head and try unsuccessfully to turn the smirk forming on his face back into an expression of disapproval. Wrench had to admit to himself, it did seem like a good song.

_All right, all right, fine_, Wrench signed with a wave of his hand. _You are such an idiot._

Numbers turned the dial up, and with the drums blasting, he rolled down his window and held his arm out, middle finger pointing proudly in the direction of Bemidji behind him.

The car roared past the long expanse of snow until it met up with the horizon and disappeared.

The End


End file.
